The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1887-06-03
A Ride on the Wild Irishmap.

London to Holyhead, en- route TO Dub
lin and Queenstown. IL drives down
from Euston TO Chester at speed of
forty miles or more an hour, and issu-
ing from that quaint, gabled, and gal
lerled city through gap in the splen-
did walls, II continues on its course to
Holyhead along the picturesque shore
Of North Wales.
Many Americans travel by it, as in
leaving or in joining the Atlantic
steamer at Queenstown they can save
several hours by taking this route, but
1t is usually night when they are borne
along, and the journey finds no dwell.
ing place in their memories. Precipit-
ous cliffs frown down upon the meteor.
like train on one side are the stormy
waters of the st. Georges Channel, and
on the other the mountains descend
without any Intervening foot hills !;
but by means of tunnels, embankments
and viaducts every natural obstacle
in the route of the Wild Irishman has
been overcome.
The distance between Chester and
Holyhead is accomplished in less than
two hours a tubular bridge spans the
Menai Strait, the ferrying OF which
formerly led to many tragedies au-
other bridge is hung over the Conway
River, and Penmaenmawr is pierced
by tunnel, through which the train
winds like ring through the nose of
savage.
When the train leaves Chester it al
most immediately crosses the boundary
line between Cheshire and Mort Wales
and for the rest of the distance to
Holyhead it is in that county. The
Dee is visible out of the carriage win
dows, like brazen serpent crawling
over a desert of mud and sand.
On the other side of the train lies a
country of increasing hilliness-a land
scape like that of England, with trim
hedge rows, thatched cottages, and the
solid looking sculpturesque foliage
which is sort of atonement for the
persistent humidity of the climate.
Hawarden, Mr.. Gladstone's seat, is
about two miles off the line, and about
twenty minutes after leaving Chester
the train runs close against the walls
of Flint Castle-a gaunt mass of naked
rock, upon which decay has set no
sign of regret, and age has put no
assuagiDg mantle. The castle was
built by Edward / and Shakespeare
has made its crude ribs" and 'stattered"
battlements one of the scenes in his
play of Richard III
Behind the hills which slope down
to Flint is Holywell, town which de-
rives its name from a miraculously
copious spring, of such efficacy in heal
ing that the beautiful gothic shrine
built over it, and ascribed to the gene.
rosity of the mother of Henry VII, is
hung with the crutches and trusses of
those who have been cured by bathing
in it.
The Wild Irishman scarcely slackens
its speed at Rhyl, the fat and rectang-
ular little wateriug-place whose noisy
excursionists from Lancashire and
Yorkshire bathe in yellow mixture of
mud washed down from Lancashire
and Yorkshire bathe in yellow MKT
ure of mud washed down from the Dee
and the Mersey. But presently we
Gross river which, flowing down from
between high hills, empties into the
sea within sight of the train, at point
where massive headland juts outward
aud reaching the farther side, we are
borne under the shadow of cliff like
wall. We look out and up, and there
are towers, battlements, and parapets.
These are 30 high, and the train is so
close to the base, that we have to al
most dislocate our neck in order to see
the summit. 1t is a castle, not cliff ;
but it seems to grow out of the rock
upon which it stands, and when it W as
built nature and art joined hands to
give it double strength.
When Edward /. had conquered the
Welsh he built three great castles to
keep the vanquished down, and though
dismantled and despoiled, they are
still very substantial examples of the
architecture of his time one is at Car
narvon, another at Beaumaris, and the
third is this at Conway, the common
name of the river which we have inst
crossed, the castle, and the little town
which lies under the castle, shut within
harp-shaped wall which formerly had
twenty-tour round towers.
A minute or two after the train
leaves Conway the mountains begin to
crowd down upon the Wild Irishman,
and threaten to shove the line into the
sea. 1t is these that the traveller
from America sees from the deck of
the ocean steamer as she passes up the
81. Georges Channel to Liverpool.
They are northern spur of the Snow
don range, and among the huddled
masses rises one. very Gibraltar of a
peak, higher than all the rest.
Once again we are In darkness, put
this time the reverberations are not
those of tunnel. The sounds are
hollow and metallic; we are crossing
the strait by the vast tubular bridge
which Stephenson built between 1876
and 1850, and which pu, an end to the
frequent accidents that had previously
occurred to passengers crossing by the
ferry. The Britannia Bridge, as it is
called, consists Of eight tubes resting
on three towers, and it spans the stream
at height of l04 feet 1t is lS4l feet
long, and the tubes are said to contain
11,400 tons of iron. Some fellow
passenger is sure to put us IN possess
ion OF these dimensions, bat we who
have seen the Brooklyn bridge can
listen unmoved, and give him in return
the statistics of a much greater achieve
ment.
One end of the bridge-that by
which we enter-is in Carnarvonshire,
and when we reach the other we are
in the island of Angesey, the Mona of
early English history, and the last ref
uge of the Druids. 1t is not very
large island, only twenty miles from
north to south, and twenty y-eight miles
from east to west. The surface is roll
ing and Gf such word can be employ
ed to describe anything in nature) com
monplace, but, except in the straits,
the seaward edge is long line of cliffs
OF varying height at whose feet many
ship has come to grief. There are
many Druidical remains on the island,
he 4 al AZ.